


Victorious Dead [Brother]

by FeralCreed



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, The Fellowship of the Ring - Fandom, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boromir Dies, Brothers, Noble Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which we see a little more to Boromir's death in The Fellowship of the Ring because I got an extra half-hour for lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victorious Dead [Brother]

"Your father will fall. Your city will fall. Your race will fall."

 

The dark words thundered in my head as loudly as the footsteps of the creatures passing me thundered in the forest. I had felt only one short sharp sting of pain when the arrow entered my body. Now I didn't think I felt anything, but I wasn't really sure. Heavy liquid darkness filled my body, making my every move sluggish and toilsome. Rest... rest... resting forever. Forgive me, Denethor. Even now, I cannot call you 'Father'. "Your brother will fall," snarls some mangled voice as another battalion of orcs passes me.

 

_No._

 

It's now that the pain returns, and soundless screaming rings in my ears. I stagger to my feet, leaping with the painful movements of a stag wounded in the hunt. My sword nearly falls from my hand but I tighten my fingers around the hilt and swing my hand up. A wounded orc falls at my feet and I move to avoid his blade, dangerous even after its owner has fallen. The spins and feints of the fight flow soothingly into my body, and if I try I can see the walls of Minis Tirith's training rooms instead of the trees and bushes.  _One, two, three,_ my sword instructor chants.  _Good! And left, right, right. Again!_

 

Another prick of pain, the impact of the arrow striking my chest startling me. I gasp on instinct, the breath rattling into my lungs as I fall back. But the orcs keep running toward me, like a thundering herd of maddened cattle, and I force myself to step forward once again.  _Left, right, right. Again!_

 

A sword strikes at my side but is stopped by the horn hanging at my side. While the weapon is stuck, I kill its bearer and the blade falls away. Its tip has cut deep into my side, but I feel only the blood. There is no pain, and in a darkened corner of my mind I know that this means my life is beyond aid. Some ancestor's voice speaks through me and I shout wordless thunder.

 

Faramir appears ahead of me, feinting and parrying as I had taught him. New strength enters my body as I realize I am not alone in this fight. I see the archer as the arrow leaves the string. Before I can scream, the arrow passes through my brother's body and soars toward me. I have half a moment to see it, with a detached admiration that doesn't seem to be my own. Faramir turns to me, his face whitening as he sees me falling to my knees, but he vanishes into smoke before he reaches me. I reach a hand out, trying to hold on to whatever part of him may be left to me, but my brother is gone.

 

I see none of the fight that comes after. Aragorn finds me, but his words fade away. My gaze shifts behind him, to the canopy above both our heads. A boy crouches on a limb above us, a bow in one hand and a proud, soft smile on his face. "Rest at peace, brother," he says. "Our forefathers wait." He gestures to the sky, to the lines of armed men on horseback. I can feel my lifeblood leaving me, but the stoic warriors strengthen as I wane. Their voices crash around me as my body is left behind.

 

"Hail the victorious dead!"


End file.
